Sully's Shirt
by Linda4HIM59
Summary: A one-shot missing scene. This story continues the scene in Man in the Moon, Michaela washing clothes and Sully gazing at her, as they discuss Horace and Myra. What happened after the camera stopped the scene? He was holding her hand, she was gazing up at him...it has something to do with his shirt, wink wink.


**SULLY'S SHIRT**

_By Linda Ellen_

_July 2013_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman (but those people aren't using them anyway!)_

Sully hammered one more nail in the roof, glad to be finished with the job. He had more interesting things on his mind...like paying attention to Michaela as she washed her undies and hung them on the line.

"I'm just so happy about Horace and Myra," Michaela exclaimed as she made her way back to the washtub after pinning another garment to the clothesline. She had actually been busy inside the house, but when he had arrived and began working on the homestead's roof, she'd suddenly had the strongest urge to do the laundry. She just hoped he wouldn't realize the obvious, that she was finding any excuse to be near him...watch him work...engage him in conversation...

She glanced at him and smiled as he eased his way down the ladder.

"Me, too," he agreed.

"They love each other so much and they've waited a long time to be together," she continued happily, as if she were feeling the other couple's happiness, her fingers absentmindedly scrubbing the item in her hands.

"Looks like there's nothin' standin' in their way now, is there?" he responded, as he flipped the hammer in his hand, surreptitiously watching her every move.

"No, there certainly isn't," she agreed, pausing as she met his eyes. A tiny part of her heart wondered if his statement could possibly have two meanings...

He let his gaze caress her as she went back to her task, chuckling as she mentioned Horace's panic when the engagement ring he had ordered had not arrived on time.

"They're already engaged, everybody knows that," Sully returned quietly.

"Yes, but the ring makes it official," she insisted, albeit with a grin.

Having turned his back to her to fiddle with his tools, he turned his head back and declared, "A ring shouldn't matter. Not as long as they love each other."

"But it _does_ matter, Sully. It's a symbol."

"Man's gotta work for the woman he loves every day. Gotta show her with actions," he insisted, his voice soft, though his eyes boring into hers were shouting volumes – he was no longer speaking or thinking about Horace and Myra.

Michaela smiled at his words in agreement. "You're right, of course. But...when he kneels before her and asks for her hand..." she paused, dreamily gazing unseeingly at the garter in her hands. She glanced back at him and shrugged, emitting a tiny, "Mmm. There's just something magical about it."

He continued to gaze at her, treasuring this time of relaxed openness between them. It was so rare that they were afforded any time alone together, as it seemed there was always someone else around precluding any private discussions. Testing the waters, he quietly murmured, "If magic is what she wants."

She met his eyes again, trying to read his expression. _What is he thinking? C_huckling and a little embarrassed, she plunged on, "Oh, she wants it all." No longer was she talking about Myra and they both knew it.

He turned and perched his hip against the table, studying her as she continued to absently fiddle with the item in her hand. "Does she." It was more a statement than a question. His heart sped up a bit, awaiting her answer to questions he'd wanted to ask, but couldn't...hoping she would elaborate...

She smiled dreamily, seeing in her mind familiar images she had long harbored and treasured, and had shared with no one but her trusty journal. "Oh she wants...the proper church wedding...she wants to wear the white dress...march down the aisle. She wants to cut the wedding cake...and throw the bouquet. What woman wouldn't..." she ended, her eyes switching over to him. After a beat, resignation took over and she set her face, musing, _But will I ever experience any of those things? What if he never gets around to asking me? Does he still love me? Surely he does...he risked his life saving me from the dog soldiers...he sold off pieces of his own land trying to help me get elected as mayor...he tells me he loves me...but...doesn't he want me as his wife? Is he still not...ready?_

With a self-conscious chuckle, she turned toward the clothesline.

Sully had been closely listening to every word, watching every nuance on her face as she mentioned the wedding highlights. He knew what she was hinting at. It was quite obvious - and so sweet it took everything in him to stop himself from pledging his troth right then and there and begging for her hand, but she moved on, hanging up several items and gushing, "Sully, Myra has never been accepted in our church. And tomorrow, she's going on Horace's arm."

He knew he should say something – he had seen the fleeting look in her eyes. Sadness? Resignation? It dawned on him that she might be wondering why he hadn't proposed to her and suddenly he felt like a heel. _Why_ hadn't he? What was he afraid of? Heck, did Horace have more 'guts' than he did? Or William Burke? The 'dashing' doctor sure hadn't let any moss grow under _his_ feet! A wave of energy swept through Sully's being remembering when the dog soldiers had taken her and he was afraid he'd never find her alive. It had forced him to come face to face with the depths of his feelings – she was his _Heartsong_!And he knew without a doubt that he couldn't live without her. She had become the most important thing in his life – and he wanted her to be by his side. _Forever_.

He pushed off from his seat and made his way toward her, stopping her busywork with a hand over hers. Drawing her hand to him, he settled it against his chest as he turned her to face him.

Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. Her heart sped up..._is he...will he..._

But he just smiled sweetly, asking politely, "And I'd like you to go on mine."

She smiled up into his face, thinking how much she loved this man...how happy he made her, just by being near. How complete she felt in his presence. She felt - _ready - _for the future...to face the unknown with him at her side – if he were to ask her now to be his wife, she knew she would not hesitate a single second to say yes.

Something of that must have shown in her eyes because his reflected the emotion. He slowly raised her hand to his lips, placing a lingering kiss to its back, not even caring it was wet with wash water.

The potent look in his eyes made her heart race and suddenly she was acutely aware of the fact that they were very much alone at the homestead, as Brian and Colleen had taken his telescope up into the hills to see what they could see, and Matthew was out and about with Ingrid. As Sully continued to gaze deeply into her eyes, his lips gently drawing out the kiss on her hand, she stood mesmerized, barely able to breathe. This man that she knew so well in some ways was such an enigma to her in others. At that moment, for instance, she had no idea what he was thinking.

What Sully was thinking happened to be many things, all racing through his mind at once. He was achingly aware of her, adoring every feature, her hair tied back in its loose braid, her eyes, so dreamily alive, her scent – that special fragrance that kept him drawing near like a bee to a flower. Indeed, she was like a rose in full bloom and oh, how he needed to taste of her nectar! Every cell in his body craved her nearness. His heart cried out his need...

Finally his lips released her hand and they stood frozen, staring into one another's eyes, hearts pounding. His mouth opened slightly, words on the tip of his tongue aching to be said...asked...pleaded...but they stuck in his throat, refusing to budge. As if they were both in a trance, his body moved to slowly take her in his arms and she unconsciously accepted his embrace, laundry forgotten, as well as the fact that they were out in the open where anyone could see.

Helpless to resist, he ever so slowly bent his head, their eyes closing as his lips touched hers...once...twice...three times. Images of their previous kisses filled his mind...the birthday kiss...the kiss they shared on the rock with nothing but a few pieces of underclothes and honey between them...and all of the chaste kisses in between. Oh how he wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless!

Suddenly, he was starving for her! He wanted to feel her body pressed to his, feel her feminine curves melding with his hard muscled chest, feel her soft lips responding to the ravaging force of his. _What would she do if I did? Would she kiss me back...or would she get scared and run? _He trembled with the effort of holding himself in check.

The fervency in the air between them did indeed frighten her, as she had never seen Sully act in just such a way. Sensing his thoughts, she felt the current in his body, as if a beast within him was about to bust loose. His expression intense, he hovered closer, looming slowly over her as the circle of his arms began to tighten...

Remembering other times he had pulled her intimately against his body, such as when she tried to teach him to dance, or in the doorway of the guestroom his first night in Boston, she suddenly pulled back, swallowing nervously as she cleared her throat self-consciously. Raising her hands to smooth back disheveled wisps of hair, she cast around desperately for something to say to ease the tension, blurting, "I hope not in that shirt!"

Surprised and scrambling to dial the flame of his ardor back down, he blinked in confusion as he watched her gesture toward his shirt and then step resolutely to the wash tub again, feeling around in the empty water for another piece to hang on the line.

Taking a deep breath, he allowed his mouth to form a teasing smirk as he followed her lead. "What's wrong with this shirt?"

She flashed a look at him, still obviously flustered. "Well...it needs to be _washed_, for one thing."

"Then...how 'bout washin' it for me?" he asked with a smile, and before she could say a word, he tugged the ends out of the waistband of his buckskins and dragged the garment over his head in one quick motion, untangling his medicine pouch and beads from it in the process. Grinning at her disconcerted expression, he dropped it unceremoniously into her hands.

Her mouth closed, suddenly even drier with nervousness as her eyes automatically lowered to that oh-so-masculine chest of his, her hands reflexively tightening on the fabric still warm from contact with his body. His familiar scent assailed her senses and made her head swim a little. How strange, and stirringly disconcerting, that somehow dirt could never quite mask his natural fragrance, a mix of leather and that essence of the outdoors that seemed to cling to his skin no matter where he was or what he was doing or wearing.

She raised her eyes again to his and saw within them a tiny spark of challenge as he waited for her response. The recognition of that snapped her out of her stupor and she plunged the shirt deep into the water as she watched his mouth form that tiny half smile of satisfaction and his head dip in a slight nod. Oh how she adored when he did that! Her lips ached to kiss that dimple winking at her from his handsome face...

He wandered back to the ladder and leaned against it, watching as she began to scrub hard at the stains on the sleeves and body of the garment.

"My goodness, I had forgotten this shirt used to be white," she grumbled as she rubbed, reaching for more soap and applying it to a stubborn stain on the back of one sleeve. "How could you let it get in such a condition? Clothing is expensive. You should soak a stain in cleaner as soon as possible to avoid ruining the garment," she fussed and fumed, all the while refusing to look over at him as he lounged against the ladder. She knew he was watching her every move and the awareness of that made the fine hairs on her arms stand to attention, as if static electricity flowed between the two of them. Indeed, the power of his gaze felt at times like a strong magnet, against which she was helpless. Many times over the past two years, just his stare could make her weak in the knees.

Taking a chance, she glanced up at him, only to find that he had relaxed back against the ladder, arms up over his head and fingers grasping the rung above. A tiny spark of naughtiness within him rose up and he smiled at her, teasingly flexing his muscles and 'posing' for her, just to see what she would do.

Her eyes flared, her face flushing with desire and immediate shyness. Quickly, breathlessly, she looked back down at the shirt in her hand, fiercely scrubbing against the washboard the spot she had just cleaned.

"I've wanted to do this for the longest time...so many occasions when I would see you, your shirts were none too clean..._filthy_ actually," she murmured as she worked.

He grinned, enjoying her agitation and reveling in the fact that she was as affected as he by their magnetism.

"Hard ta wash your clothes when ya live in the woods," he drawled quietly. "The creek makes a lousy wash tub."

"Indeed," she answered flatly.

"Sometimes I'd run outta soap," he added, grinning as he watched her increase her scrubbing speed.

"Colleen and I would have helped with your laundry," she returned, lifting an arm and swiping at the ever-looser tendrils of hair on her face and neck, which were now sticking to her skin from a combination of nervous perspiration and exertion.

He watched her attack the shirt again, that 'Michaela Quinn' look of fierce determination dominating her countenance. He chuckled softly, thinking how much he loved this special woman, and he couldn't resisting teasing, "You keep that up, ya gonna scrub a hole in it."

"No I most certainly am n..." she blustered as she pulled the wet, soapy shirt up out of the water, inadvertently meeting his eyes through the quite sizeable hole in the sleeve! Her eyes widened with shock and then shame. "Oh Sully...what have I...I'm sorry..." she stammered as she allowed the cloth to flop back into the tub. She was mortified beyond words.

He chuckled again and pushed off from the ladder, sauntering over to take the offended garment from her now limp hands. Raising it to eye level, his knowing smirk was too much and she looked away, humiliated that she had literally scrubbed the life out of his shirt! _One would think I'd have learned how to use a washboard by now! What must he be thinking?_

"I'm so ashamed," she whispered contritely.

With a rakish grin, he reached out and touched her chin, turning her face to meet his eyes. When she did, guardedly, he whispered, "It's all right. It's just a shirt." His eyes were twinkling with mirth...and affection.

"Yes, but...surely you don't have so many that you can afford to...to..." she argued, but he shook his head and slipped one hand up, gently placing a finger against her lips.

"I'll fix it. Watch." With that, he quickly pulled his knife out of its sheath and made short work of slicing both sleeves off at the shoulders, effectively transforming the garment into a sleeveless version of its former self.

With a satisfied twinkle, he dipped it into the water and rinsed the remaining suds from the fibers, shook it out, and walked to pin it to the line to dry. As he turned to view his ladylove, he found she hadn't moved from her spot other than to watch his movements.

He sauntered toward her, hands behind his back, and stopped inches away, waiting until she looked up.

When she did, he smiled lovingly. "Thank you."

Her brow furrowed. "Whatever for?"

"I been needin' another sleeveless shirt. Thanks for givin' me a reason to make one."

Clamping her lips together and chuckling softly, she looked down and shook her head, only to raise it again as he immediately moved closer and returned his finger to her chin.

"I know how you can pay me back, though, if ya feel the need," he murmured, just above a whisper. The expression in his eyes left no doubt what he meant.

She swallowed, asking anyway, "H...how?"

He smiled sensually, his gaze dropping to her lips. "Like this," he whispered as he leaned in, his lips connecting with hers.

With a sigh, she surrendered, immediately finding herself ensconced in his warm, strong arms and pressed up against his bare chest. It felt like heaven...so warm...so right...as if home was in his embrace. Raising her arms, she wrapped them around his torso, hugging him close as he plied her mouth with delicious kisses, their heads simultaneously slanting to the side with matching sighs. It was heady stuff, and even more intoxicating than she had imagined his kisses would be. She felt the tip of his tongue caress her sealed lips, begging for entrance, and with a shaky breath, she complied, her senses reeling as she felt his first tentative explorations. Before long, the kiss became deep, heated, and urgent.

Minutes later, nearly overcome, Sully broke the kiss and folded her in his arms, one hand guiding her head to nestle her face against his neck.

She could feel the swift beat of his heart thudding against her cheek and she knew hers matched in cadence.

"I love you, Michaela," he whispered, pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose as he rocked her slowly back and forth.

"I love you, too," she answered softly, breathlessly waiting for the longed for declaration...question...dare she wish, proposal. But he remained silent.

She had no idea how fiercely he was fighting within himself, striving hard to gather the courage to ask her the question burning in both of their hearts. Somehow, it never seemed the right time..._but when would the right time be? Now I know she wants me to get down on one knee...give her a ring...but where'm I gonna get the money for an engagement ring?_

Finally, she pulled back, smiling up at him lovingly as he reached to smooth a lock of hair from her face, the depth of his adoration giving his eyes an even bluer glow. Reaching up to take his hand, she smiled again as she took a half step back, but remained close. Still smarting from making such a fool of herself she whispered, "I still feel badly about scrubbing a hole in your sleeve..."

He rolled his eyes playfully and shook his head, musing at her stubbornness. Leaning in, he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, gazing into her eyes.

"Don't worry about it. I told ya. It's just a shirt." Watching the expression in her eyes, he chuckled and leaned to give her lips a quick smack before backing toward the woods. "And speakin' 'a that, I need ta go get one from my lean-to so I ain't walkin' around here half naked." He said the last word with a wiggle of his eyebrows and laughed when she blushed. "See ya for supper!" he called.

Ten feet away by then, he lifted a hand in adieu and pivoted on his heel to continue on his way, his wavy hair fluffing in the breeze, his steps light and happy.

As Michaela turned back toward the washtub with a sigh, she picked up the discarded sleeves of what had once been a nice garment, shaking her head ruefully at her stupidity.

Before she could berate herself once again, his beloved voice yelled unseen through the trees, "It's just a shirt!"

Laughing in relaxed mirth, she mused, _that man knows me too well, _as she plunged the detached sleeves into the water and gave them a thorough rinsing before hanging them on the line next to the altered garment.

"Oh well, no sense in crying over spilled milk. I can use them as dust cloths," she murmured as she set about dumping the water from the tub.

Humming happily, she disappeared inside the house; instinctively knowing this incident would remain a treasured, private joke between them as the years went by, and that no one but the two of them would ever know the details of the washtub, the flustered laundress, and the shirt_._

_**~~The End~~**_

_Thanks Adri for the cover design!_


End file.
